


Put a smile on

by mistressterably



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:31:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5188781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistressterably/pseuds/mistressterably
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by @mistresswinterseat and her smiling Wednesday Wonders. Can Sam make Grumpy Malcolm smile?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put a smile on

‘Don’t forget you’ve got the charity gala this evening, Malcolm. I’ll be picking up your tux from the cleaners on my lunch.’ Sam was bringing him his morning coffee and muffin. Malcolm had already been at the office for an hour thanks to an early morning interview that the Minister of Health had been scheduled for and the newly-appointed Minister was still coming to grips with a high profile appointment. Usually for such an early morning gig, Malcolm would have left it for Jamie to manage but this Minister had asked for Malcolm’s assistance directly. He had had high hopes but they had come crashing down when the stupid fucking cunt had cocked up the stats, reversing the success rates and the deceased numbers for A&E incidents in the past six months. Nothing like making the hospitals look like morgues. 

‘Are you fucking shitting me?’ Malcolm groaned. ‘Just what I need, a roomful of mentally incompetent automated smile machines shoveling out pointless platitudes all in the name of helping to pay some fucking lazy bastards way through life.’

‘It’s for the new children’s ward at St. Bart’s.’ Sam just casually reminded him. ‘The Employment Incentives engagement is next month.’

‘And that makes it oh so fucking much better.’ Malcolm still scowled. Sam ignored his grumpiness but just cleared off the empty coffee cups he’d been drinking from earlier. ‘Little fucking ankle biters.’ Sam cuffed him lightly on the head for his last comment. ‘Yeah yeah, don’t you have fucking emails to write for me?’

‘As always.’ Sam smiled and left him to his next appointment with the Minister of Transport, ushering him in as she left Malcolm’s office. Even before the door was closed Sam could hear Malcolm launch into a curse-fueled bollocking of the Minister. 

Throughout the entire morning, it was a rotating bollocking room in Malcolm’s office as Sam worked her way through the constantly flow of email requests and information. At lunch, Sam asked Malcolm if he wanted anything brought back for his lunch. 

‘Oh lord, yes, darling! If you could get me a smoked salmon bagel?’ 

‘With pleasure, Malcolm. You had booked in an appointment with Julian Nicholson at 4:30 pm but I pushed that to tomorrow. You’ll be getting ready for the gala.’ Sam mentioned the change. ‘I’ve already called him and let him know.’

‘Oh, you figured that out did you?’ Malcolm grinned. He had tried to get that one over on her but she was too on the ball to be fooled with such a blatant man oeuvre. 

‘Of course. I was surprised that Julian had accepted the meeting on his calendar.’

‘Well, he doesn’t have as good a PA as I do.’ Malcolm shot her a wink which she ignored. ‘Right, up next should be the DoSac fucktard team. Send them into their doom if you could, Sam.’ Malcolm rubbed his hands together with a wicked smile and a gleam in his eye. Sam smiled and shook her head. Exiting the office, Sam told Ollie Reader and Glenn Cullen to go on in. Instead of screaming, Malcolm started off with quiet and brutal sarcasm over their latest numbers fuck up. 

By the time Sam returned with his lunch and his tux, Malcolm’s mood had soured immensely. She knew his moods very well and just quietly left him to do what he needed to do. Time enough to get him changed into his tux later on. 

As the clock moved past 4:30 pm, Sam began to grow concerned. The gala was being held at a large hall that was a good two hour drive away from Number 10 what with the usual end of day traffic. But Malcolm was still behind closed doors with the archivist over missing documents that had been brought to his attention by the Minister of Transport. Not until the clock struck 5:05 did the archivist exit Malcolm’s office and Sam was able to enter. 

Malcolm was stretched out in his chair, glasses thrown on his desk and his hands rubbing at his eyes. The matching grey tie had been loosened and was hanging crookedly. Without a word, Sam went to the hanging wardrobe bag and was removing the tux for him, laying it out on one of the office chairs. ‘Oh fuck me with a rotten cucumber.’ Malcolm groaned. ‘I don’t have the energy for a fucking glad-handing circle jerk with drunk twats.’

‘It’s for the children, Malcolm.’ Sam reminded him with a quiet tone. ‘I’m going to run to the ladies and change into my gown. Get your tux on and I’ll be back to help you with your tie.’

‘I’m sure that they don’t need my scowls there. I’d rather pass. They’ve got my money already.’

‘And you know that a part of the purpose for the gala is the raffle draw. You’ll be expected to buy at least one ticket at the door.’

‘Oh for fuck’s sake.’ Malcolm groaned louder. ‘Anything to squeeze more out of the balls of the rich and jaded. I’ll pony up the funds and you go. Buy a five pack in my name, you get the takings.’

‘Malcolm, you did promise the PM that you’d be there.’

‘Until the sodding fuck landed me with a limp-dicked Minister who can’t direct his piss to hit the side of fucking Westminster. I’m more drained than I would be after an hour’s long outing with the best prostitute in the City limits.’ 

‘Get changed, Malcolm.’ Sam told him. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’ Leaving him to change on his own, Sam was soon in the powder room down the hall and changing into her evening gown. Returning to his office, her hands lifting the hem of her gown up to avoid it dragging too much on the carpeting, Sam was back in his office in time to help him with his bow-tie. ‘As handsome as ever, Mr. Tucker. You’ll be breaking the hearts of all the Ministerial partners tonight.’ Malcolm responded with a growl. Sam gave him a smack on his shoulder. ‘You’d better behave this evening, Malcolm. Or you’ll be having to answer to your worst nightmare.’

‘Oh?’ Malcolm’s eyebrow shot up. ‘I’m known as the worst nightmare around Number 10.’

‘And who is that keeps you in line?’ Sam challenged him.

Malcolm snorted. ‘As if the PM has a hope of managing that!’

Sam tightened his bow-tie enough to make him gasp slightly. ‘The PM has nothing on me, Mister!’

Malcolm’s eyes went wide. ‘You? My worst nightmare! I beg to differ!’ 

‘We’ll just see how you manage without fresh coffee on Monday then.’ Sam threatened. ‘And no fresh fruit platter.’ 

‘You wouldn’t!’ Malcolm was wresting her hands off his bow-tie to keep her from tightening again. 

‘Do you really want to test my mettle?’ Sam pursed her lips, her gaze telling.

Malcolm’s eyes showed her that he was thinking hard as to how to answer her question and then he was breaking into a wide grin. ‘No, Sam. No testing your mettle! Not tonight anyway. Let’s go. I think we’ll manage to be just suitably fashionably late.’ He held out his arm to her and she took it agreeably with a smile of her own. 

‘You’re still on the hook for the raffle tickets.’ She teased. Malcolm could only chuckle as he escorted her to the waiting car.


End file.
